


Little Rabbit

by Magnolia822



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, First Time, Hair Kink, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-25 07:20:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2613128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnolia822/pseuds/Magnolia822
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur becomes obsessed with Merlin’s hairy legs and gives him a pet name. Merlin isn’t amused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Rabbit

**Author's Note:**

> This little fic exists because of a twitter conversation I had recently with [Amphigoury](http://amphigoury.livejournal.com/) and [ingberry](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ingberry/pseuds/ingberry) so blame them! 
> 
> Thanks to SillyGoose for the beta! 
> 
> Disclaimer: I make no profit from this work. No copyright infringement or offense is intended.

It all started when Merlin received the dubious honour of becoming Arthur’s manservant. If he wasn’t mucking the stables or polishing the prince’s armour or bringing him breakfast, lunch, and dinner, Merlin accompanied Arthur on rides around the periphery of the kingdom. Arthur claimed it would do Merlin good to learn how to ride properly because he was ashamed of having a manservant who could barely seat a horse. Merlin didn’t complain—riding horses was better than cleaning up their mess, even if it did result in an unconscionably sore bottom. 

There was another reason, Merlin soon discovered, that Arthur insisted on these weekly rides. Like many young men his age, Arthur skived off from work—in this case, fencing practice—in the summer. On hot days when the sun roasted their heads and Merlin feared his entire body might liquefy, they made their way to cool lakes or streams in whatever perimeter of the forest Arthur was ‘patrolling.’ While Merlin tended to the horses, Arthur disrobed with the easy, careless grace of a man who had every confidence in himself. 

It was difficult not to watch. Merlin had gotten used to seeing Arthur naked in his own chambers, but out in the forest and beyond the walls, close to the earth and magic, it was different. Arthur was different. He seemed to glow in the sunlight, all of him downy and golden, his chest broad and strong. 

It was dangerous to watch. So Merlin kept his head down and made sure the horses were at ease even while his own tunic stuck to him like mud on a pig. 

“Merlin, why don’t you join me? Come on,” Arthur called, splashing waist deep in the lake. “Don’t be such a girl. Can’t you swim?” 

“I can swim just fine,” Merlin said. “I prefer the dry land. It’s all . . . muddy and weedy in there.” He wrinkled his nose for emphasis as Arthur laughed. The truth was, Merlin had never been entirely comfortable with his own gangly body. Arthur would only tease and gawk, as he usually did. Merlin would spare himself that particular indignity, thank you very much. And he’d also spare himself the indignity of—gods forbid—becoming excited while naked with Arthur. It was bad enough he responded when Arthur tackled him or wrestled him when they were both clothed. But with nothing to hide behind, his embarrassment would be impossible to ignore.

He remained firm in his conviction through the hot month of July until one sweltering August day. They’d ridden for nearly three hours when they arrived at a beautiful, clear swimming hole, fed by a noisy waterfall. The air smelled fresh—filled with earth and leaves and the sweetness of flowers. Arthur wasted no time flinging off his clothes and creeping carefully over the slick, moss-covered rocks to the cool water beyond. His arse was tanned from so much time naked in the sun. 

Merlin’s mouth watered as sweat trickled uncomfortably down his back. 

“Merlin!” Arthur called over his shoulder once he was knee-deep. “You better get in here, or I’ll send you to muck the stables for a fortnight!” 

Sighing heavily and rolling his eyes, Merlin felt his resistance give way. After ensuring the horses were fed and tethered, he traced Arthur’s path and disrobed, leaving his clothes in a pile next to Arthur’s. The sun dappled his skin, filtering in through the trees from overhead. It did feel undeniably luxurious to be naked outside on such a hot day. 

But just as he’d expected, when he turned around to face the water, Arthur was gawking. Merlin covered his groin with his hands, not an easy feat while clambering over perilous rocks. 

“What are you staring at?” he groused once he’d finally joined Arthur in the shallow end of the pool, shivering a little at the shock of the cold water. He’d seen other men’s pricks before, after all, and had never found his own lacking. It was perhaps the one physical feature he possessed that might exceed Arthur’s in perfection. 

But Arthur wasn’t looking at his prick—at least, he wasn’t only looking at his prick. His eyes seemed to be focused on the general region of Merlin’s thighs. 

“You’re like a fawn,” said Arthur, grinning. “Not entirely. Up here, you haven’t much hair at all.” He gestured to Merlin’s chest. “But down here,” he swatted Merlin’s bum. “You’re all covered with fur. Like a fawn, or a little rabbit.” He laughed at his own joke, eyes glinting. 

“I’m not a rabbit. Just because you’re virtually hairless doesn’t mean most men are,” said Merlin. “Look at you, you’re practically smooth as a babe.” 

Of course, Merlin didn’t look down. They were standing too close for that. He already knew what he’d find—Arthur’s member nested within a naturally trim, neat triangle of blond, darker than the golden hair on his head. The thicket of hair between his own legs was much darker and fuller than Arthur’s.

Arthur, however, seemed to have no such compunction. He seemed to be looking his fill. 

“Is it soft, Merlin? Soft as a little rabbit? Or is it coarse, like the hair of a boar?” Arthur was still teasing him. But before Merlin could think of a rejoinder, Arthur turned and dove into deeper water. 

The two of them spent a lazy afternoon swimming and lounging on some of the larger rocks next to the falls. Arthur made several more references to Merlin’s hairy legs, but Merlin ignored him. He stretched out with his hands behind his head, staring up at the clear sky. A thrum of excitement ran through him whenever he glimpsed Arthur laying only a short distance away, but he managed to keep himself under control by not looking too long. For the first time since leaving Ealdor, he actually felt content—until he caught Arthur staring at him out of the corner of his eye. 

“If my legs offend you so much, I’ll put my trousers back on.” 

Arthur snorted and rolled onto his side, away from Merlin. “Your legs don’t _offend_ me. Don’t be ridiculous. What does offend me is the fact you’ve failed to bring us lunch—again.” 

“Well, you were in such a hurry. I hardly had time to saddle the horses!” 

“Excuses, excuses, Merlin.” Arthur didn’t look at him again.

***

The following week, Merlin made sure to bring lunch so Arthur wouldn’t complain. While he tied the horses, Arthur blustered nakedly into the cool stream, just like a horse himself.

“Are you coming in, little rabbit?” he called over the roaring of the water. 

Merlin wrinkled his nose. In the past week, Arthur had started with the embarrassing nickname—mostly in private, though Gwen had overheard and later asked Merlin about it. In perhaps one of the most humiliating experiences of his life, he’d managed to contrive some half-arsed explanation about rabbit stew. She hadn’t been convinced. 

It was hopeless to object. The more he did, the more Arthur used it. So he’d given up. 

“Come on, Merlin! It’s hotter than a donkey’s bollocks outside.” Arthur looked ridiculous—and maybe a little charming—standing on a rock in the middle of the stream. 

“Oh, and you’d know how hot donkey bollocks are, would you?”

Arthur couldn’t seem to come up with a rejoinder. He just waved at Merlin with a noise of disgust and continued his pursuit of the deeper pools in the stream. 

Merlin scratched at his itchy tunic, which had grown damp with sweat under the arms. He hesitated for a moment, and then yanked it over his head. He might as well be comfortable, and the freezing water would ensure he didn’t embarrass himself. 

They spent the afternoon alternating between swimming and lazing about on the baking rocks until their flesh started to pink from too much sun. At one point, Arthur fell asleep with his hand on his belly, and Merlin laughed and teased when he saw the print it had made. 

“Not all of us have protective fur like you,” Arthur grumbled. Merlin hesitated to point out that his belly and chest were nearly as bare as Arthur’s, but Arthur was staring again at his legs. This time, when Arthur saw he’d been caught staring, he flushed deep red and turned away. 

“It’s time we got back to the castle,” he said. 

That was the last time they went swimming that summer. Quickly, the weather cooled and turned autumnal, and Arthur was distracted from leisure pursuits by his duties. He stopped calling Merlin “little rabbit,” too.

***

Arthur paced about his room, distracted. He’d become increasingly irritable over the past several weeks, snapping at Merlin for the smallest infraction. Merlin didn’t understand the shift, but he wondered if it might have something to do with him. Arthur seemed more at ease when he wasn’t around. But at the same time, the thought was absurd.

“Sire,” Merlin started. Arthur froze midstride and focused his attention on Merlin—not quite a glare, but almost. “I was wondering if you were displeased with me for some reason.” 

“I’m always displeased with you, Merlin,” Arthur said. 

“Yes, I know. But lately, you seem . . . more displeased than usual?” 

“If I’m displeased it’s because you’re always asking the most asinine questions. Now stop gawping and prepare my bath.” 

Merlin did as he was bade, tamping down the hurt that bloomed in his chest at the sharp words. He missed the easy camaraderie and teasing of the summer, and he couldn’t understand what he’d done wrong to change things between them. 

Normally, if Arthur wasn’t in the room, Merlin might have used magic to carry the buckets and warm the water, but tonight he didn’t dare, and he wound up slopping a good deal of it on himself. Arthur stood staring out the window at the darkened lands beyond Camelot. He made an irritated noise when he saw what Merlin had done. 

“You’re soaking wet, Merlin.” 

“Sorry,” Merlin said, not sure why he was apologizing. _He_ was the wet—and now cold—one, after all. 

Arthur stalked over to him, looking him up and down. “You better change.” 

Merlin turned to go, but then he felt a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. There was something strange in Arthur’s eyes. “And to be honest, you look as if you could use a bath yourself.” 

“What?” Merlin sniffed. Sure, he smelled a little bit like the stables, but not worse than how he normally smelled. Nothing terribly offensive.

Before he even knew what was happening, Merlin found himself being undressed, manhandled carelessly into the tub, and doused with the last bucket. He sputtered in shock as his hair covered his eyes and water ran into his nose and mouth. Arthur took the cloth and began working it over Merlin’s back roughly, as one might wash a horse or a cow.

“Gods, Arthur!” Merlin yelped. “I can do it myself. I’m not a bloody invalid.” He grabbed the cloth from Arthur and pushed his hair away from his forehead. 

Arthur was staring down at him with a look of surprise, as though he couldn’t quite believe what he’d done. His eyes darted around nervously, and he licked his lips. “Sorry,” he said. Merlin almost laughed. It was the first time he’d ever heard Arthur use the word. 

Merlin’s hairy knees were sticking out of the water. Arthur stared at them for a moment too long. “Sorry, little rabbit,” he said, though the words were barely audible. 

Suddenly everything slotted into place. Merlin could have kicked himself. Arthur’s erratic behaviour—teasing one moment and surly the next—could only mean one thing. 

“Arthur?” Merlin said. His magic tingled through his fingers and toes, eager and excited, as he finally recognized the look in Arthur’s eyes. If Arthur had been any other person, he wouldn’t have been so blind. But it seemed so improbable for Arthur to want him. There was no doubt now, however, not with the visible bulge straining Arthur’s trousers. Merlin’s own member hardened instantly at the sight, poking out of the water and drawing Arthur’s attention. Merlin didn’t attempt to conceal it, but he bit his lip, unsure of what to do next. He had never lain with anyone before.

Arthur kneeled down next to the bath. Face-to-face, Merlin could feel Arthur’s warm breath against his lips before they brushed his own. The kiss was tentative, a mere touching of mouths, until Arthur made a needy sound and pushed his tongue against Merlin’s. A jolt of pleasure seared Merlin from lips to groin. He kissed Arthur back hungrily, hands fisting in Arthur’s tunic to drag him closer. 

They kissed and kissed until the need to be closer overwhelmed them both, and Merlin stood to clamber out of the tub. His nipples pebbled instantly in the cold, and he nearly tripped and fell in his haste, but Arthur steadied him, laughing. 

“Such an eager little rabbit.” His voice was filled with heat. Merlin was about to reach for a drying cloth when Arthur grabbed him around the waist and hauled him towards the bed. 

In between kisses, they somehow managed to get Arthur undressed. He covered Merlin with his body, his prick thick and hard between his legs. Merlin groaned as their groins found each other naturally. He would have been quite happy to rock against Arthur and find his completion like that, but Arthur seemed to have other ideas. He abandoned Merlin’s mouth and kissed his way down, making Merlin shiver with each touch, until he was seated between Merlin’s spread thighs. 

He ran his hands down the length of them, eyes dark with lust, and then up to the thick nest of curls. Merlin stared, wanting Arthur to touch his prick but not sure how to ask. Arthur stroked his thighs and squeezed them eagerly. His own member was pink and smooth, the foreskin retracted to show a slick, bulbous head. 

Would Arthur want to put it inside? 

Merlin squirmed. His prick was so hard it hurt, and he needed . . . 

“Are you petting me?” he finally asked in disbelief.

“Maybe a little,” Arthur admitted. “You . . . are soft, like I imagined. But not like a rabbit. Like . . .” He leaned down and nosed Merlin’s taut sack, sniffing him, and then tasting. He suckled one of Merlin’s bollocks into his mouth, and then the other. His mouth was so hot, so wet. Merlin nearly arched off the bed as his prick started to dribble early seed. Arthur noticed his response. He smiled deviously. “Turn over.” 

Merlin didn’t know what to expect, but he was beyond the point of asking questions. Arthur petted the backs of his thighs, and then his buttocks. He spread apart the globes and Merlin felt he might die of anticipation. What was Arthur going to do back there?

“Gorgeous,” Arthur said. He ran his fingers down the seam between Merlin’s buttocks and tapped a finger against his most secret place. Merlin pushed back, overcome with a strange need. He wasn’t entirely ignorant in the ways of the flesh, and he had seen animals coupling—he wanted Arthur to mount him from behind. He wanted that intense, mindless joining. 

Then the pressure changed, became wet and hot. Oh gods, Arthur was kissing him _there_ , sucking and licking that secret place ravenously. His tongue speared and spread him even as Merlin rubbed his prick against Arthur’s freshly laundered sheets. Arthur was making hungry, desperate sounds, running his hands all over Merlin’s legs and bum, squeezing him. It stopped feeling strange and started feeling so right. 

“Merlin,” he finally gasped. Merlin felt the thick blunt length of Arthur’s prick sliding in the place he’d made wet. Arthur fell heavily over his back and kissed the side of his face, his neck. He rutted against Merlin’s arse, and Merlin almost sobbed.

“Arthur, I want . . .” He hoped Arthur would understand what he couldn’t quite say. 

“Can I, Merlin? Just . . . just a little bit. Put it inside you? I’ve wanted it so long. Please.” 

Merlin was inflamed by Arthur’s words, ecstatic to hear him needy and begging. Arthur’s prick pushed against his hole with more force, nudging until the head pressed inside. Both of them gasped, seized up, and Merlin could feel Arthur pulsing out his seed. He hadn’t even gotten one full stroke in, but now he buried himself inside, filling Merlin up, hunching his hips and groaning. The burning stretch of being impaled the first time hurt, but the fullness—knowing Arthur was inside him—made Merlin spend, too. White-hot pleasure radiated throughout his whole body, and his magic rejoiced, calling to Arthur, drawing out their mutual climax until Merlin wasn’t sure where he ended and Arthur began. 

Sleepily content, Merlin curled up against Arthur’s chest—which was as broad and pleasant as he’d imagined. He could hear the slowing lug-lug of Arthur’s heart. Arthur kissed his brow and wrapped his arms around Merlin tightly. The dragon’s words came to mind, unbidden. Perhaps he and Arthur truly were meant to be—a destiny he hadn’t known he wanted until now. 

“Before, you said I wasn’t like a rabbit, but you never completed the thought.” 

Arthur hummed. “Oh yes. I was going to say you’re an idiot. Oh, and you’re the dearest thing in the world to me and I couldn’t bear to lose you.” 

Once again, Merlin found himself speechless. He raised his head to look at Arthur, who was blushing. However nonchalant and ironic he’d sounded, he’d actually meant what he said. 

“And you’re a royal pain in the arse.” Literally. Whenever Merlin shifted, he could still feel the ache of their coupling. “But I don’t mind if you call me pet names. Just not in public. It took me three weeks to get Gwen and Morgana to stop teasing.” 

Arthur kissed him again, his lips soft and tender. “You don’t think it’s strange?”

“It’s a little strange. But then again, it’s you, so I’ve come to expect it.” 

With a laugh, Arthur tackled Merlin to the bed, holding his hands down behind his head, and Merlin couldn’t help responding. His prick started to harden, though it had been mere minutes since he’d climaxed. 

A lascivious grin spread over Arthur’s face. “My, my, Merlin. You really are a little rabbit.”


End file.
